


An Iron Fist

by Classic Rock Chick (thewrittenfae)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014, End'verse, F/M, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewrittenfae/pseuds/Classic%20Rock%20Chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some survivors that show up at camp, causing problems before they're even bunked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Iron Fist

De groaned at the commotion outside. She was tired of the bickering between some of the men, always thinking they knew better or that someone did the best job and should be praised for it. Honestly she felt like she was running a camp full of girls sometimes. 

"Where are you going?" Jacob's arm wrapped around her waist in an effort to keep her in bed with him. 

All it had her do though, was shove the appendage off her so she could settle on the edge of the bed. "To take care of this shit." Legs were slipped into jeans before she stood, not bothering with underwear. Buttoning her jeans she took a step away from the bed, not bothering to glance behind her. "You can clear out." 

Shes rustled, letting her know that Jacob had moved. "Thought there'd be a round two." 

"Sweetcheeks, I don't have time for a round two." Clasping a bra, she slipped the straps on before the t-shirt was tugged on after. "Clear out before I get back from dealing with this mess." Her tone was hard, not wanting to argue with people. Some in the camp would have expected her to visit their cabins if that was how fast she wanted to be done, easy slip away. But she'd always felt that there was something more intimate in her going to them. And she didn't have time or want intimate. She wanted her itch scratched with no strings. War zones didn't exactly leave great chances for strings anyway. 

Moving down the steps of her cabin barefoot, green eyes hardened at the men in front of the truck. Right outside her fucking cabin no less. "What the hell is going on out here!" 

The shouting stopped as everyone glanced at her. Her men looked chastised already and stepped back a little so she could see some new stubborn, set faces "We found a couple clean survivors." 

Caleb took a step back when she moved to them, her brow arched and a smirk on her features for how rabbity he looked. Everyone knew she hated to be interrupted, no matter what or who was in her cabin, and Jacob's slip out the door in jeans and no shirt only cemented something had been interrupted. "A clean survivor doesn't normally warrant all this yelling, Caleb." 

There's a glare at the two new men, lip curled back in an almost snarl. "They're thinking they get to run shit around here. We were trying to assign them bunks, and are dictating to us what they think they should get." 

"You're gonna listen to me, kid. I'm your elder, and I say my son and I get to bunk together." The elder of the two newbies puffed up his chest, pointing at Caleb. "And who the hell is she! I want to talk to the lea-" 

Deanna didn't give him a chance to finish before she strode forward and punched him in the nose, just enough to water eyes and bleed, but not enough to break. "You speak when spoke to around here. This is my camp, and you'll bunk where we have beds, keep your head down, and do as your told, when you're told. Or you can go back out that gate and fend for your fucking self. You and your son." 

The father stumbled back with a cry, though none of her men moved to help him. Just his son there to catch his arm and keep him from trying to move forward towards Deanna. “Please don't kick us out,” the son murmured softly as he shook his head at the father who kept trying to say something. 

“Then keep your father's mouth in line. I don't let people cause shit in my camp. Next one is two states over if you're lucky, don't like my rules, don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. And don't let the Croats get a little nibble while you trek west.” Deanna turned on her heel to walk away. “Show them to the beds that are open. See that they get a meal.” 

Breaking away from his son, the father gave an angry grunt. “You can't treat us like this! We have rights!” 

Deanna moved, pulling a gun out of the holster on her man and aiming it at the man, green eyes hard enough to chip eyes. “You have a right to the air you breath. You have a right to wander around and to whatever you can find out there. But in here, in these walls and gates, you don't have a right to anything. You work, you contribute, and in return you get what you need, including protection.” She cocked the gun, arm not even wavering. “Do I make myself clear. You can work, or you can leave. Or I can put us all out of misery and then offer your son the same choice.” 

“Dad...” The son gripped the old man's arm, trying to pull him back. “We'll fit in, and pull our weight. Please just don't shoot him.” 

It's a long pause before Deanna finally flicks the safety on and hands the gun to one of her men. “Fine. He causes trouble, you'll be leaving with him because you just promised to fit in and work. Clear?”

Nodding, the younger man drew his father back a few more steps. “Crystal. Thank you.”

Deanna barely nods as she's heading back inside. She was so ready to be alone, and to be in bed, out of her clothes.


End file.
